


Side Effects May Include Meet Cute

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Kink My 'Tober 2019 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Glove Kink, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Med Student Derek, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Meet-Cute, Object Insertion, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Self-Lubrication, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 16:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Medical conditions aren't sexy. But sometimes med students are. Stiles finds it a little conflicting when Derek Hale of all people turns out to be administering one of his most embarrassing treatments.





	Side Effects May Include Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Am I still wildly behind on Kinktober? Yes. Did the word count jump up from yesterday? Also yes. Am I gonna admit I have a problem yet? Definitely not.

Stiles hated this more than anything. The cold room. The smell of antiseptic. Awkwardly trying to figure out where to put his folded clothing. He was all too familiar with the entirety of it. Hell he could probably recite most of the educational pamphlets on the side table by heart. Every clinic seemed to have the same ones. Not that there wasn’t a teenaged pregnancy epidemic going on, but did they really think infographics were gonna stop kids from breeding their first heat?

He’d made it all the way to college scott free, but it definitely wasn’t because of his own restraint. Far from it. See, Stiles was here in the first place because he was having another Bulwark Heat. If you got them, they tended to be a chronic thing. Not regular, oh no that would be too easy. Instead they could come out of nowhere to ruin an otherwise regular week, like someone who was prone to UTI’s.

His first ever heat was one, his dad had to run him to the emergency room in the middle of the night while he felt like he was burning up from the inside out. The glands that secreted his slick hadn’t quite formed right. They were too big and sometimes got squished or pinched.

It meant he tended to overproduce his slick which made for some very fun teen years. Sure alphas pitched big ol’ tents at the chalkboard sometimes and that wasn’t exactly easy going, but he’d argue that suddenly making a puddle of slick in your pants because that cute guy from chemistry smiled at you was infinitely worse.

The flip side to this, the part that actually meant he had to be here, taking up position on top of one of those padded tables with paper, was when they got stopped up. He’d get blockages. At first he’d notice that he was just unusually dry—had to actually use some lube to play with himself. But then he’d start getting aches, little fevers.

Eventually he’d know they were swelling up, could feel a warmth low in his belly that made him clammy with a sour, sick sort of sweat. He’d have to get them expressed. There were lots of bootleg blogs that said you could do it at home, but those tended to end with kids having tears in their anal lining and horrible infections.

Was it embarrassing to tuck your knees up under yourself and try not to moan as a doctor used a special little tool to make you cum a whole heat’s worth of slick in one go? Yes. Was it better than potentially hospitalizing yourself for trying to do it with a dollar store extendable pointer? Also yes.

So he’d been given forced orgasm by every great aunt or uncle in every family clinic in his hometown. He’d been hoping moving away for college would’ve been better. Sometimes that was all it took. A change in diet and activity. A big move. Less stress. He’d wanted to remake himself into someone that definitely never had to do this again and yet.

Here he was, just desperate to get it over with so he could get back to his midterms. Sexy, right? The paper was stiff underneath him. His skin had pebbled from the cold. This bench was just a little bit too narrow so he kept feeling like he’d totter off of either edge if he relaxed too much.

And then Derek Hale walked in. Only son of the illustrious Hale family. The ones with their name on the campus medical center. He threw parties on weekends in his industrial reclamation apartment. He drove a brand new sports car. He’d given a speech at orientation about bright futures or some such nonsense and then flashed a grin at the audience with teeth that were somehow cute. How does someone even have cute __teeth? __

And more importantly, what was a guy with cute teeth doing in here? Stiles thought Derek was going to school to be some kind of loose cannon ER doctor, or maybe an incredibly pretentious, but talented surgeon. Perhaps even he’d just go straight into plastic surgery, just make himself another boatload of cash on top of the family inheritance.

There wasn’t a single reason in the world for him to be in the fertility ward. But there he was, grabbing Stiles’ clipboard, blushing furiously, clearing his throat. “So… uh. Bulwarked secretion glands, huh? That’s… those’re… painful.”

“Ya, no shit,” Stiles barked out before he could stop himself. Derek’s eyes widened and Stiles let out a little groan to himself as he curled up even tighter. “Can we just—” he unfurled an arm to make a lewd gesture, whistling as he did. “I’ve been ass up for like five minutes already, my shins are gonna be bruised at this point.”

Derek stared at him for a long, silent moment before clicking his pen a couple times and nodding his head. “Definitely! Let’s just… I have some questions I have to—” he trailed off as he turned to go digging through the bag he’d brought with him, eventually producing a work sheet of some sort. “So, Stiles—er Mr. Stilinski—how often do you masturbate and do you stimulate your anus regularly during such activities?”

This was actually worse than having old fogie tell him terrible dad jokes while lubing him up, Stiles was sure of it. He slowly started hitting his head against the bench beneath him, gripping tighter and tighter onto his knees. Maybe if he just laid it all out on the table and streamlined this whole affair it would be over quicker and much less painfully. He wouldn’t have to hear Derek dry gulp before asking him about STD’s or try not to be judgy around Stiles’ habits.

He took a deep breath before rattling off the answer to every possible question that could be on that sheet. “I try to keep up with a PT regimen using anal beads, but I’ve got a new roommate so I’ve kind of fallen off of that because I really don’t think he wants to watch me laboriously stuff sex toys up my ass. I make sure to drink above the recommended amount of water each day because I’m shit at watching my salt. My heats have been a little irregular since the move, but nothing too crazy. I’ve never had unprotected sex. I noticed my flow was drying up a couple days ago, but a heating pad and some light yoga didn’t help anything. Yes, I sleep enough. No, I’m not interested in experimental drugs or surgeries to try and permanently fix it.”

By the end of the tirade, it actually did feel pretty overwhelmingly mundane. Maybe it was just that he’d done it so many times it made the situation feel rote. Maybe he really did make a bigger deal out of it than it had to be. Either way the tension left him and he could feel himself slump a little, even in his position. “Can you just massage it please?” he whimpered a little, just a hint of pouting coming through. It really did ache and he felt kinda bloated and just wanted to be at home, under a blanket.

Derek had gone from a cartoonishly shocked face to the first semblance of professionalism Stiles had probably ever seen from him. His brows locked into a furrow of seriousness and his naturally thin voice went to a commanding facet of soft that was pretty soothing. He put his paper down and moved to Stiles’ side, grabbing his ankles to position him a little better and then pulling on some gloves. “The lubricant will be a little cold at first, don’t tense up. I’m going to open you up with my hands first and then we’ll move to the speculum.”

Stiles nodded along, focused on his breathing. Derek put a hand on his waist to steady him, absentmindedly rubbed circles on Stiles’ skin with his thumb. The other parted him carefully, but confidently, exposing him to the cool air. Stiles chewed on his lips, feverish and overly sensitive, desperate to whimper and mewl at even the barest touch, but he tamped it down.

Derek’s fingers were a bit blunt, but his movements spoke of experience. He didn’t press too far, too soon. He stretched just enough to make progress opening Stiles up, but not enough to hurt. He stroked the swollen, stimulated inner walls in ways that made Stiles bow his lower back, relax his muscles, start to quiver as his thighs grew weaker.

Either this wasn’t Derek’s first attempt at this procedure or he’d pleasured his fair share of omegas before. Stiles knew which option he’d be betting his money on, but in the moment he couldn’t give less of a shit. Because that shivery, cold fever was finally starting to bloom into its more natural state. He felt a warm, decadent glow start to suffuse through his body. He felt limber and lethargic. His mind was filling with fuzz in that pleasant way like hitting the peak of your meditation.

Derek’s voice was muffled the next time it broke their silence, but Stiles couldn’t be asked to focus on it, centering all of his attention on trying not to moan-- to writhe in place and beg for more. He didn’t even notice Derek’s fingers had been replaced with the tool until it was reaching deeper inside him-- deep enough that it felt like a whole separate space of intimacy.

Stiles mashed his face into the padded bench and couldn’t help breathing out his mouth heavy, wet. He spread his thighs as wide as they could go, felt fluids start to gush down the insides of his thighs. He couldn’t make out what Derek was saying, but his voice was a calm, consistent tone-- that extremely unprofessional hand never leaving his waist, never stopping its stroking. It anchored him.

Tears burst from Stiles’ eyes and he cried out as he felt himself squirt-- a release washing over him so deep that his muscles convulsed and his vision whited out and a new ache set about his body. His heat broke. His body gave out.

Derek rushed to his side and cupped his face with a bare, tender hand. His pants were tented and his eyes a little wild, but he looked nowhere except Stiles’ face, calling out to him with a calm, but insistent cadence. “Stiles, Stiles? I’m sorry I got a little carried away. You were just so inflamed and I thought if I just--”

“’S okay,” Stiles slurred, pressing his face to Derek’s belly and trying his best not to pass out right after he came, like usual. “That was… you were good.” He clutched at Derek’s shirt weakly, wished he could pull him to lay down. Would feel so nice to have a strong, warm body beside him for once, to keep him safe after he felt so laid bare.

“You can stay here a little while, but I’m going to have to get you some fluids. You… lost a lot of them.” Derek blushed and Stiles snickered. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.


End file.
